The Sugar Haus Inn

by Serena B. Miller

  He needed Aaron to leave now so he could sort it all out. There were decisions he needed to make about his future that would take time and stillness—and most of all, prayer. His father’s weapon of choice.

  “I’m really tired, Aaron,” he said. “Can we talk in the morning?”

  Aaron’s troubled eyes filled with compassion. “I’ll bring breakfast. There are plenty of clean blankets and sheets in a plastic box in the closet. We keep them there so the mice can’t get into them.”

  “Thanks.”

  He closed and locked the door after his friend left and pulled Rachel’s phone out of his pocket along with his own. He needed to call her and let her know he was okay.

  But there were no bars on either phone. They were too far into the boonies to get a signal. No landline, either. He wouldn’t be able to call her tonight.

  It was astonishing how much that saddened him.

  Bobby was huddled in the corner of an old couch. “I don’t like it here, Daddy.”

  “Me either, son.”

  “Can we go back home now? I miss my kitty.”

  “It’s late, buddy. Let’s get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”

  Bobby stuck his thumb in his mouth and mumbled, “Can I thweep w’ you?”

  It felt like being hit in the stomach with a baseball bat, watching Bobby suck his thumb and revert to baby talk again. He had been so proud of the fact that his child finally felt secure enough to sleep in his own little room at the daadi haus.

  Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, made Joe’s limbs feel heavy. He was so tired of trying to protect his traumatized little boy and failing. He was so tired of trying to make decisions and finding out he’d been dead wrong.

  “Yes, son.” He sighed. “You can sleep with me.”

  Dear Rachel,

  My amnesia is gone! I called my grandparents, and they came to get me. They said my cousin and her husband want to adopt my baby. My cousin can’t have babies of her own, so I guess this will be a really nice Christmas present for them and I can still see my little girl whenever I want to. I can’t wait to go back to school. I didn’t think I would miss it, but I do. I want to graduate from high school. I’m thinking about becoming a cop when I grow up, just like you did.

  * * *

  Love,

  Stephanie Anne Fowler

  P.S. Please don’t be mad at me.

  * * *

  “Her grandparents came for her?” Rachel laid the letter on the counter at the police station.

  “They came in when she brought the letter, and I met them,” Ed said. “Nice people. Worried about their granddaughter. They said to give you their thanks.”

  She smoothed a hand over the letter. It had been written on flowery stationary that Rachel had forgotten she possessed. The girl had also somehow managed to find a florid purple felt-tip with which to write. Typical. She wondered how many of her drawers Stephanie had dug through in order to come up with writing materials that fit her fifteen-year-old tastes.

  In spite of the round, childish scrawl, Rachel was impressed with Stephanie’s literacy. There was not one misspelling. The girl would do well in school. That thought gave her comfort.

  She traced her finger over the lines of the letter. “Stephanie dots her i’s with little hearts.”

  “She’s a kid,” Kim said. “Probably still believes in the tooth fairy.”

  “She certainly believed the fairy tale that ‘Mack’ told her,” Ed said with disgust.

  “Have you given up on finding him?”

  “We have no real name, no make of car, no license number, no fingerprints, no destination—and Stephanie probably wouldn’t testify against him even if we did manage to find him. There are a million guys out there just like Mack.”

  Kim picked up the letter and studied it. “I think it’s interesting that she included her whole name.”

  “Why?”

  “Unless I miss my guess, that little girl is hoping you’ll find her. With all the information we have, it shouldn’t take long.”

  “I might do that when I get over being ‘mad’ at her for selling out Joe. I have a feeling Stephanie might be an interesting person to know in a few years.”

  “You probably helped her more than you know.”

  “I hope so.”

  During the past few hours, Rachel had seen a side of Kim she had never expected. The volunteer had been an enormous help with getting Joe out of town. It occurred to her that Kim would make a fine police officer for their town someday—if and when there were any openings.

  “Thanks for helping out today, Kim. I owe you one. Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

  “Well,” Kim said wistfully, “I’ve kind of been wondering. Do you suppose your aunt Lydia might ask me to come around for dinner sometime? I don’t have any relatives around here and—”

  “I’m sure of it,” Rachel said. “But I’m giving you fair warning: bring some cash. There’s this orphanage in Haiti that my aunts are involved with, and Lydia’s cooking doesn’t come cheap these days… .”

  “They’re like two peas in a pod,” Aaron said, watching Bobby and his son Davey build a tower out of Lincoln Logs. “I shouldn’t be surprised, with only a month’s difference in their ages.”

  “You’d almost think they were twins, except for the difference in hair coloring.” Joe was enjoying the sight of his son so absorbed in play that Bobby seemed to be unaware that his dad was even in the room.

  “Have you figured out what you’re going to do?” Aaron asked.

  “I have an idea,” Joe said. “I don’t know if it will work.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ve been thinking about something that Bertha, the old Amish lady I was telling you about, said. She told me that the way they deal with curious tourists is to simply go about their daily business. She says that when the tourists have looked their fill and asked all their questions, they lose interest. And visitors to Amish Country soon discover that the Plain people aren’t so different after all.”

  “And you think that will work—for you?”

  “It’s the only thing I have left. It’s either go completely public or live in some gated community for the rest of my life. Bobby deserves a normal childhood. I want to give it to him if I can. I think that childhood could happen in Sugarcreek.”

  “How can I help you, brother?” Aaron’s eyes were filled with compassion.

  “I need to go back and deal with things.”

  “Would you like us to keep Bobby while you do?”

  “I don’t think he would stay.”

  Aaron watched the boys play a few more moments. “Ask him.”

  Joe thought over Aaron’s suggestion. Asking couldn’t hurt. “Bobby? Come here. Daddy needs to talk to you.”

  Bobby’s reluctance to come to his father was evident. He had the Lincoln Log project to complete. New puppies wriggled and whined in a basket in the corner. And there was a small homemade playground out back that he and his new friend had run to and from all morning. Aaron’s place was packed with wonderful things for a child to enjoy, and Bobby was having the time of his life.

  “What, Daddy?” He glanced back over his shoulder at his playmate.

  “I’m thinking about going back to Sugarcreek for a few days. Do you want to come with me?”

  “Right now?” he whined.

  “Yes. Right now.”

  “Can’t I play with Davey some more, Daddy, please?”

  “You can if you want to. Would you like to stay here a few more days? Sleep in Davey’s room? I need to leave and take care of some things.”

  That got Bobby’s attention. “What things?”

  “I’m going to try to make it so we can go back home and live in Sugarcreek forever.”

  “Will those people go away?”

  “I’m going to talk to them and ask them not to do that anymore.”

  “Can Davey and his mommy and daddy come visit us?”<
br />
  “Absolutely. And we’ll come here.” He glanced at his old friend. “Often.”

  “It’s only a three-hour drive,” Aaron said. “If he gets upset, we’ll bring him to you.”

  “I’ll call you every night, son.”

  “ ’kay.” Bobby’s attention was already wandering back to his little playmate and the litter of pups.

  “I think that’s a yes,” Deborah commented and smiled.

  “He’ll regret it tonight when he realizes I’m gone.”

  “Aaron and I will deal with it,” she said.

  “I appreciate it,” Joe said. “Things might get pretty intense in Sugarcreek for a while. I’d rather Bobby not be in the middle

  of it.”

  “He’ll be safe here.” Deborah put her arm around Aaron’s waist. “You go do what you need to do, Joe.”

  “You’ve done so much for us already, my friends. I needed a place to rest and pray and think things through, and you gave me that.”

  “Brook Cherith,” Aaron said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “My grandfather always called his hunting cabin ‘Brook Cherith,’ after the place where the prophet Elijah rested,” Aaron said. “After which Elijah called upon the name of the Lord and overcame four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal.”

  “Prophets of Baal, huh? That’s an encouraging thought,” Joe said. “Pray for me, Aaron. If what I’m planning doesn’t work, I’m all out of options.”

  Chapter 22

  “We made Joe sleep outside in that one-room cabin,” Bertha said. “With him used to mansions and fancy hotels. Goodness’ sakes.”

  “He didn’t mind,” Rachel said for the hundredth time. “He was grateful for everything you did.”

  Her head was pounding with one of the worst headaches of her life. She was also just about as depressed as it was possible for her to get. It had been a week, and Joe had only made one quick call from a friend’s house to let her know that he and Bobby were safe.

  The press had left. Strangely enough, she had the distinct feeling they weren’t upset in the least by Joe’s sudden disappearance. It was his very elusiveness that made him such desirable prey.

  She missed him. She missed Bobby. She missed her car. She even missed Stephanie.

  Drained, she left her aunts to their never-ending speculations about Joe and his former life.

  When she arrived home, she went into the bathroom to take some aspirin. Placing both hands on either side of the sink, she looked at herself in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks looked hollow. She had barely slept since Joe and Bobby left.

  Pictures of Joe’s haunted eyes from the first night she met him kept pouring through her mind. She winced every time she remembered the belligerent attitude she gave him when he was new to town.

  She also remembered watching Joe jump with feigned terror each time Anna played her little “boo” joke on him, recalled his never-ending patience with her aunts and his extraordinary love for his son. She replayed how they had sat together at church and how surprised she had been the first time she had heard him singing the old hymns with conviction and enjoyment.

  Her favorite memory of all was of sitting beside Joe as they had laughed together at that bug movie—Bobby snuggled in her lap,

  Joe holding the popcorn. It had been one of the best evenings of

  her life.

  Against her will, she had fallen head over heels in love with the man and his son even before she knew what the rest of the world did. Now she didn’t know if he would ever come back to Sugarcreek. He couldn’t keep running forever, could he?

  That was the problem. As long as he felt he needed to go underground to protect Bobby, he might.

  The thing she most wanted to do was climb back into bed, pull the covers over her head, and coast into oblivion—but she was pulling a double shift tonight. She hoped there was plenty of coffee at the station. She would need it.

  As she drove to the station, a bottle green truck with jacked-up tires roared past. The Keim twins were at it again—still living their rumspringa to the fullest. She was sick to death of dealing with them and that ridiculous truck.

  Flipping on her squad lights, she gave chase through town, hoping to pull them over before they left the township limits—her jurisdiction. Unfortunately, they gunned the truck and tried to outrun her, hurtling down Route 93.

  She was not in the mood for this. Those boys needed to be taught a lesson. Her worry about Joe and Bobby morphed into anger at the boys as she flipped the switch into a chattering siren.

  They sped up.

  She gritted her teeth and stomped on the accelerator, hoping there would be no buggies on the road.

  Of course, in and around Sugarcreek, there were always buggies on the road. The boys knew this as well as she did. They had driven their share of buggies until they had gotten jobs at the Belden Brick Company and sunk their paycheck into the truck they were presently using to outrun her.

  Surely they would know to watch for buggies.

  Their truck was swerving back and forth on the road, and she began to suspect that whichever twin was driving was drunk. Her decision to chase them was looking less and less wise. At the speeds they were driving…

  The slow-moving buggy didn’t stand a chance.

  The truck plowed into it, crushing it like a cardboard box. She saw a body fly out. The horse, locked into its traces and whinnying in alarm, fell into the ditch.

  Before she could even completely stop her car, the truck had backed off the wreckage and was roaring down the highway again, swerving around the crumpled body in the road.

  She jerked the radio mic to her mouth. “Accident on State Route 93, just south of town. I need an ambulance.”

  The familiar-looking horse was badly hurt, flailing its legs in the air—but she couldn’t deal with that now. She had to find out if the person from the buggy was alive. Hopefully no traffic would come. The squad car with its flashing lights would be some protection. She didn’t have time to set up flares until she found out…

  Her legs buckled when she got close enough to identify the driver of the buggy.

  “Dear God, no!” She fell to her knees beside him.

  It was Eli, who had been like a second father to her.

  He didn’t respond. His legs lay at an unnatural angle. His face was gray. And there was blood seeping from a head wound.

  She wanted to howl in fury, to shake her fists at the sky at the unfairness of yet another lethal confrontation between a buggy and a motorized vehicle.

  But she neither howled nor shook her fist. Her training immediately kicked in. She pressed two fingers to Eli’s throat while begging for his life.

  “Father, please—not this man—please, Father…”

  A faint, thready pulse quivered beneath her fingers. If the EMTs would get here fast enough, there was hope!

  “Hold on, Eli,” she sobbed. “Please hold on. Your family needs you. I need you.”

  Tears dripped down her cheeks and off her chin, wetting the black cloth of the old man’s coat. She staunched the blood from the cut on his head the best she could while waiting for the life-saving siren of the ambulance, praying that no other cars would come around the curve and be going too fast to stop.

  The ambulance arrived. Hands lifted her up and away from the old man—the old man who had comforted her the day she buried her father. A gurney appeared, and Eli was strapped in and rolled into the awaiting ambulance.

  As though from a long distance, she heard a gunshot. Someone had put the broken and dying horse out of its misery. She glanced over and saw Ed shaking his head in regret as he holstered his gun.

  Too many horses had died because of impatient drivers. Too many Amish people had been hurt for no other reason than trying to hold their families and churches together by using the slow-moving vehicles.

  The crisis, for now, had been taken out of her hands. As though her body knew that nothing more
was needed from it for now, it began to shake. Not from the cold of the overcast late October weather, but from nerves and regret and grief. The very marrow of her bones felt chilled.

  Then she felt a broad chest behind her and arms that warmed hers, and she looked up, wondering who would dare to be holding her. Surely not Ed or one of the other police officers. They would never be that unprofessional.

  At first she didn’t recognize who the tall man was. His eyes were a startling cobalt blue, he was clean-shaven, and his hair was short and wavy. She had never seen this man before—except…

  Except in pictures.

  “Joe!” She clung to him, all reservations gone. “You came back!”

  “Of course I came back,” he said. “How could I not? This is my home.”

  She buried her face in his chest, remembered where she was, and let out a moan. “I don’t think Eli is going to make it.”

  The daadi haus smelled musty and unwashed. Joe had departed in such a hurry that things had been left in disarray. It surprised him how much this bothered him as he walked through the rooms straightening bed linens, putting dirty clothes in the hamper, and opening windows.

  This cottage didn’t belong to him, and yet after painting and scrubbing and making it into a home, he felt more ownership of it than any place he had ever lived—including the mansion Grace had chosen and bought.

  He retrieved a pair of Bobby’s socks that were peeking out from beneath the bed. They were so small. He smoothed them out with his hand, feeling a tug in his heart at being separated from his little boy.

  He hoped the reporters would come soon. He was anxious to put his new plan into place—a plan that involved never running again.

  After he put the cottage into shape, he threw some tea bags into a pan of water and brought it to a boil. Then he stirred in some sugar.

  He would not wait on someone like Stephanie to alert the media ever again. He would let them know exactly where he was, and when they arrived he would talk their ears off—hopefully until they were sick to death of him. He intended to talk until all the glamour and mystery had worn off. Until he had become, in their eyes, just an ordinary Joe, who was no longer newsworthy. He would talk to them nonstop until they and everyone else in the world was so bored with him that he could bring his son home to live in peace.